Try, Try Again
by YviSalty
Summary: If Undertale was a dating sim, you would be a romantic interest. (Or not.) You're an assassin with a job—eliminate the monster ambassador child. On an ordinary day, you wouldn't have batted an eye on a hit on a child, especially one of such high rank. But...why is it that your SOUL hurts when you think of their death? Assassin!Reader
1. Chapter 1

The first time that Frisk met you could only be described with one word: fate.

They had just gone for ice cream and were contentedly savoring their treat when they turned around the corner—

 _"Oof!"_

"Oh jeez. Sorry kid! You okay?" you coughed out. Though Frisk was young, their head had slammed straight into your chest and forced the air out of you.

Frisk had fallen flat on their butt as you offered your hand to help them up. They gave you an apologetic look as you pulled them to their feet.

"Don't sweat it. I should be the one apologizing," you said, gesturing to the fallen ice cream. They looked at it forlornly. "Hey, hey. How about I treat you to another one? You seemed like you were just starting on this one."

They nodded enthusiastically, and the both of you headed back to the parlor.

"So kid. What's your name?" you asked.

Frisk. They told you that their name was Frisk.

"The monster ambassador? Ha. Fancy meeting you here," you smiled rather calmly. Frisk thought you were a little too calm compared to other people's reactions. It was refreshing though, and they thought nothing of it. Perhaps you were just special. "Anyways, I'm [Reader]. Nice to meet you. Monster ambassador though—it's gotta be a tough job for a kid like you."

The two of you shake hands, and Frisk noticed that you wear thick leather gloves.

 _"I'm not a kid! I'm responsible!"_

"Hehe…hi responsible," you teased, but continued before they could reply. "But honestly, what do you do? Do you have anyone to help you?"

 _"I meet a lot of grownups and tell them about monsters. I explain things that others are too afraid of experiencing. My mom helps me when I ask for it, and dad's there too! It's not that bad,"_ they said, ordering another vanilla cone once at the parlor.

"I wouldn't be able to be up for the job," you laughed lightly. "So many things that could fail and turn wrong in an instant, as well as the hopes of so many other people placed upon a single person…that's too much pressure for me."

There was a somber mood as the ice cream man passed the cone to Frisk.

"Well, I just think you're a pretty awesome kid," you said to break the silence. "Kids your age usually stay indoors all day and play video games. You though…heh. You're leading the world with your actions."

Frisk scrunched their face up in a mockery of the politician frown and puffed up their chest in obvious pride, and you laugh at their ridiculously cute expression.

The two of you continued to chat until the sun started to set, and Frisk realized they had a surprisingly good time with you. However, good things never last. It was time to head home, or Toriel would be extremely worried, and then mad that she had to worry.

Frisk bid you a farewell and a thanks for the treat but—

You pulled out a gun.

Black gleamed in the dull evening light.

"Sorry kid. Nothing against you, but a job's a job."

BANG!

SNK.

They were dead before they could scream.

* * *

Frisk took a huge breath and opened their eyes.

The ice cream cone in their hand was starting to melt, but they didn't pay it much attention. Instead, they looked at the corner and saw you coming around. Quickly walking the other way, they tried to calm their beating heart.

It wasn't working.

Polishing off their ice cream, they headed home with the Papyrus-speed walk cycle, soul throbbing in fear the whole way. They could remember the gleam of the gun, the bite of the bullet, and oh gosh the expression on your face was so terrifying—

You didn't look scary.

It wasn't the glare or the frowns that made a killer look scary. It was the smile. The empty haunting expression—no, not expression. The empty haunting mask of apathy, pasted onto your face was what terrified Frisk. It reminded them of Chara and the hurt and loneliness buried underneath, hidden by lies like "I'm fine" or "I don't care."

But you weren't Chara.

You weren't a misunderstood kid or a monster they could simply pacify. You were a human adult, a human adult killer, and Frisk was sure that they should avoid you.

Toriel would definitely agree.

Even once they reached home and Toriel's motherly greeting soothed them slightly, their fear of you was still there. They went to bed checking if you were there—after all, you were wearing dark street clothes, black shades, and black gloves, and was clearly a hitman. People like that lurked in the dark, right? They should have known the moment they bumped into you that you were a person up to no good. What upstanding person wears leather anyway?

In the morning, they had bags under their eyes.

They couldn't understand why they were so afraid of you. They've been killed many times before by monsters for all sorts of reasons, and they always came back with a smile to greet those monsters. You had already killed them once and the world was quick to prove your murder technique was no different from the monsters since Frisk could still load, so why were they so afraid?

Maybe it was because adult humans seemed so much more powerful. The whole monster race could be killed by a single child, but it was the adult humans that forced a single child to be a killer.

A week after the encounter that did not happen, Frisk attended a public speaking ceremony. Toriel had opened up with a greeting speech, her commanding voice inspiring awe through the crowd—

BANG!

Frisk couldn't breathe.

Red bloomed on their chest.

In the distance, a black smoking barrel gleamed in the sunlight.

* * *

Maybe they could convince you not to kill them.

Maybe they just had to talk to you more and get to know you better. Frisk was sure that you didn't want to kill them because you hated them. On the contrary, you had said it was a job the first time around. Maybe they could change your mind.

Tasting the sweet treat that they bought over a week ago—and wasn't that a gross yet awesome fact? Week-old ice cream, fresh from DETERMINATION—they sought out the fated corner. Walking back to the same path with their head down, they anticipated bumping into you, but was still knocked down by your iron-frame.

"Oh jeez. Sorry kid! You okay?"

They tell you that they're okay, but still shake a little, likely from nerves. You assumed they were just a shy kid not used to getting into trouble rather than a traumatized youth who had been killed by you, once upon a time. Patting them on the shoulder, you gave them a friendly smile.

"How about I treat you to a new ice cream cone?" you asked, eyes twinkling with something familiar to Frisk. It was…kind of like how Sans offered to take them to Grillby's.

Frisk nodded, and the two of you set off for the ice cream parlor.

 _"This isn't a date, is it?"_ Frisk wiggled their eyebrows at you, throwing away their anxiety. They didn't escape underground with ANXIETY. No, they were DETERMINED to make you a friend.

You laughed, "I guess if you want it to be. Though it'll be a bit weird on my part, dating a middle schooler."

 _"I can't help it. You attract me like a bee to honey."_

"That is so cliché," you grinned. "Try something less sappy."

Once again, you pay for their ice cream and the two of you chat for a while. You never ask for their name, and perhaps you were distracted from how entertained Frisk was keeping you, but you never asked about the ambassadorial duties either. Instead, the two of you subtly flirted back and forth, which was mainly Frisk's pick-up lines and your critiques. When it got dark, you were the one who started to leave.

"Well, it's time for me to head home. I got a job bright and early tomorrow," you winked at them. Sometime along the way, you had started to grow warmer and more relaxed around Frisk.

Frisk decided to ask for your phone number.

"No need for that. You were great company kid, but I doubt we'll see each other again."

Downtrodden, Frisk nodded. Perhaps it was for the best. After a few years on the surface, they've realized that they couldn't befriend every single person out there. Some things just weren't meant to be, and friendly assassins were just hard to come by.

The two of you parted ways, and that night, Frisk slept a bit more soundly.

In the morning, the news broadcasted an arsonist attack on the monster queen's home.

There were no survivors.

* * *

Frisk opened their eyes to a squished ice cream cone in their hand, and sighed.

Asking the nearby vendors for some napkins, they cleaned up their mess and wondered which approach they should take with you next. Naturally, avoiding you wouldn't work. Accidental acquaintance didn't seem to work either. Perhaps a straight up confrontation…?

While they contemplated their next move, you had already moved past the corner and were making your way to a coffee shop. Aha! Perhaps the ice cream parlor was simply too childish for you. Maybe that's why you never got an ice cream cone like Frisk did, and just watched Frisk eat.

Determined once again, they followed in after you for a real date this time. Or as really as their thirteen year-old mind could make it.

The place was packed, easily a good excuse to sit next to you. And so they did.

"Oh. Hey there. Place sure is crowded, huh?" you smiled when they asked if they could take a seat. "Knock yourself out."

 _"Can we date? Because you're hotter than the bottom of my laptop,_ " Frisk grinned.

"Oh gosh," you laughed. Your eyebrow twitched a little. Perhaps they came onto you a little bit too strong? "Heh. Kid, aren't you a bit too young to know these things?"

 _"Eh. Old enough to be in adult meetings, old enough to hear adult things,"_ Frisk waved off huffily.

"Hmm? What adult meetings?" you asked, curious.

Frisk tells you about their ambassadorial duties, and relayed just how "adult" they were.

"Wow. Sounds tough. Hey, you want something? My treat," you offered. Frisk was torn; should they accept? Last time you offered because they lost their ice cream cone due to the collision. Now, you had no reason to offer anything. Reluctantly, they decided to decline.

 _"I just came here for your handsome face,"_ Frisk bluffed. Yes, they wanted something, but they'd rather not screw this up with you.

"My face is very handsome," you nodded sagely, and the two of you easily traded banter.

 _"My name's Frisk. What's yours?"_

"[Reader.] I'd say it's nice to meet you, but I don't often say it to people who hit on me," you replied in good nature.

 _"I'm not hitting on you. I'm just giving you BACKHANDED compliments,"_ Frisk gestured to you with finger guns.

"Oh gosh, who in the world raises you?!" you chuckled.

" _People who love jokes. They're very…punny,_ " Frisk answered.

When your order of coffee cake arrives, Frisk eyes it with a sort of predator gaze. When they make eye contact with you, they quickly looked down with a pout. You stifled your laughter.

"Knock knock."

 _"Who's there?"_

"Babyface."

 _"Babyface who?"_

"Baby face me when you want something!" you said.

It wasn't the best joke in the world—really it was more of a pun than a joke—but it was the first one Frisk hear you say. It was the first time you reciprocated their efforts—so they laugh a little.

 _"Heheh—mmfph!"_

You stuck a piece of cake into their mouth. They chewed and savored the strangely milky piece of coffee confectionery.

 _"Hey this is really good. It tastes kind of stra—"_

The colors of the world faded to black except for blue…

The fork you held gleamed with a strange blue liquid—something that didn't belong in cake.

* * *

Frisk was almost at the end of their wits.

It was like—it was like battling Undyne all over again! You were unrelenting in your conviction to kill Frisk, even if it wasn't because you REALLY want to kill them. They shuddered to think of when you actually DO want to kill someone.

Avoiding you doesn't work. Accidentally bumping into you was a fail. Directly confronting but staging it like a coincidence was a mistake. Perhaps they should just straight up ask you for a date?

 _"Hel-lo handsome! Want to go on a date with me?"_

"W-what…?"

Frisk looked up, startled. Holy baloney, you were actually standing right there! Recovering quick, Frisk repeated themselves.

"Oh…you're serious," you stared for a bit before laughing slightly. "Geez, to think I get asked by a middle schooler for a date. You have more balls than half the men and women I know."

 _"You up for it sexy?"_

"Haha, as long as you stop wiggling your eyebrows like that," you grinned, playing along. You were quite interested as to what this child had in store for you. Perhaps subconsciously, you recognized the anomaly in Frisk. "What do you have in mind?"

 _"I was just thinking of the park. I would suggest going to the movies, but the lights don't exactly know what they're doing."_

"The lighting is…manually controlled by the film directors…?" you commented, confused.

 _"Exactly. And they're all blind because the spotlight isn't on you,"_ Frisk gave a wolf whistle.

"Alright, calm down there Casanova," you shook your head with mirth. Frisk internally smirked. They still got it.

 _"My name's Frisk."_

"Alright Frisk. I'm [Reader]."

The rest of the afternoon was done in a fashion similar to the past three resets. Talk, banter, flirt, joke…it was in a different location, but it was the same song and dance. It wasn't a surprise when Frisk accidentally tripped on a rock, only to head downwards toward a steep lake.

SPLASH!

Something sharp collides with Frisk's head.

The last thing they see was your hand, and the last thing they felt was you pushing down.

Your black gloves gleamed with aquatic lights.

* * *

Frisk sighed. They hadn't ever reset or loaded as much as dealing with you.

Sure, there were many times that battles did them in, but you weren't a battle, were you? You were just a person that they failed to befriend.

Or maybe they've succeeded, but you had to kill them anyway? You did say it was a job. That would be quite the romantic plot, but Frisk knew it wasn't true. If you had any feelings of friendship, they doubted you would act all murder-y with them.

Then again, friendship takes more than one day to develop—unless you were a monster—but Frisk never had more than one day with you. Even if they did, once they told you their name, you were sure to kill them by the end of the day. That was the recurring pattern, wasn't it? The longest they went without resetting was a week, and you still killed them at the end of the day. What a disaster.

However, maybe you weren't the problem. Maybe your employer was the problem.

Yeah, that had to be it! Frisk resolved to do a little reconnaissance, and what better way than to do it now? You turn around the corner, enter the café like predicted, and ordered a coffee cake.

A few minutes passed when you finished your food and waited around for a while. Someone walks into the café and sits down across from you—a woman. She looked twice as suspicious with her high collar turtleneck and ball cap, a shadow over her angular face. It was another few minutes before she left, and another few minutes after that before you left. Frisk decided that they would have to wait another time to find out the identity of the woman.

(In truth, it was just a random woman who had no other place to sit. As you shared a table with her, you had a feeling that in another time, you had more pleasant company.)

Curious, Frisk sneakily trailed after you, making sure to duck behind buildings or lampposts every once in a while. Their light blue and purple sweater did little to help them blend in to the dull grey buildings, but they snuck into Alphys' True Lab! They could handle trailing after you!

Or so they thought.

They lose sight of you as you turn around a corner, and dejected, they decided to head back—

Click.

They came face to face at the end of a gleaming black gun, muzzle pointed straight to their head. The world around them faded to black.

 ***ACT**

 ***CHECK**

 **[Reader]LV MAXHP 1/1DEF 1ATK 99**

"I don't know who you think you are, but I don't appreciate your attention," you smiled lightly. "I would tell you to run home to your mom, but I get the feeling that you know too much for your own good. Sorry kid."

BANG!

* * *

Alright.

This time, Frisk was going to be cool.

Frisk was going to be casual.

Frisk was going to be a complete dork.

 _"Uh…hi."_

Great going Frisk.

"Hi," you replied in a clipped tone.

 _"Uh…you okay? You look to be in a bit of a bad mood."_

"It's what happens when people won't leave me alone."

 _"Oh…I guess I'll go now."_

Yup. You were completely like Undyne. Frisk would rather lose the battle and win the war another day, because any longer and your glare would have struck their soul down.

Who needs guns or whatever when you had deadly eyes of death? It was almost on par with Sans' empty-eyed stare.

(Little did Frisk know that you were feeling foul that day because someone requested the death of a certain child. While you've pulled off many assassinations with all the people that could tug heartstrings, you didn't want to kill this particular one. Why? Well. You didn't have an answer for that, and perhaps that was what made you annoyed.)

Needless to say, Frisk was dead again within the week.

(In the end, you killed the child anyway, ignoring the tug in your SOUL.)

* * *

Alright, that didn't work.

Time to get some advice.

 _"Hey mom?"_

"Yes my child?"

 _"How do I get a person to like me?"_

"What's wrong dear? Is someone bullying you at school again?"

 _"Kind of."_

"that's easy kiddo. patella me who they are and i'll beat them up."

"Sans!" Toriel scolded, trying to keep a straight face.

 _"But Saaans! I WANT them to LIKE me!"_

"welp. i dunno what to tell ya kiddo. take them on dates and swoon them with your charm. if you could do it to my bro, you could do it to anyone."

 _"But I couldn't! They keep ignoring me afterwards, or go back to being mean!"_

"Some people just aren't meant to be together," Toriel soothed, patting Frisk on the back. "Like your dad for example."

There was a sob from the living room. Poor Asgore.

 _"But at least you could tolerate dad. I'm not sure this person even TOLERATES me. They don't show any emotion other than…"_

Frisk slowly turned to Sans.

"what."

 _"THEY'RE JUST LIKE YOU!"_

"what."

 _"Oh my gosh, I'm right! They're just like you. They always have a smile on their face, but they get annoyed easily when I do something that may or may not pry into their secrets, and it doesn't show in their smile but it shows in their eyebrows! It scrunches up like this—"_

Frisk scrunches up their nose and ends up looking ridiculous trying to imitate your empty-eyed smile.

"by the stars, kiddo. what kind of people have you been seeing?"

 _"The kind that paid for my ice cream."_

"and you say they hate you?"

 _"They probably do. I'm not sure yet."_

"W-well, I'm sure it could all be fixed with a cup of tea, and maybe some pie?" Asgore comes in, trying to hide the fact that he was weeping in the other room.

"Maybe," Toriel huffed.

"so there you have it kiddo. dates."

 _"I've taken them to the café and the park. Where else can we go?"_

"try a _fig_ then."

 _"Really Sans?"_

Frisk gave Sans an unimpressed look.

"no? alright, dates aren't just about going to generic locations. ya gotta know what they like, bucko."

 _"Well…they like guns."_

"I'm not sure how comfortable I am with your developing friendship, my child."

 _"Don't worry mom! They're not overly violent!"_

Sans and Toriel gave Frisk a dubious look.

"right. welp, it's a _long shot_ , but i guess you could try the paintball range…"

 _"Oh my gosh. You're right! Thanks Sans!"_

" _Long shot,_ hoho! Good one Sans."

"thanks tori."

Frisk finally had a game plan, but continued to ask their other friends for ideas. Papyrus lent Frisk his dating manual, and Undyne was quick to suggest a workout. It was ludicrous, but Frisk kept all the ideas in mind anyway. They were sure at least ONE of them would work for you.

Throughout the week, they tried to find you, but there wasn't a single trace. It was understandable—it was a fairly big city, but they would have caught a GLIMPSE of you by now, right?

By the end of the week, the public ceremony took place—

BANG!

* * *

Frisk took a deep breath and slapped their hands on their cheeks, smooshing their face together.

 _"Alright, Frisk, you can do this!"_

Taking a running start, they bend around the corner and slam into you.

"Oof!"

Even with the running force, you were still a bastion of iron will, wobbling only slightly while Frisk rubbed their forehead. Running into you was like running into a brick wall.

"Watch where you're going kiddo," you said, patting them on the head. Frisk almost froze. That…that never happened before. You were never overly familiar, always distant, and any pats of reassurance would be on the shoulder.

Shaking away their shock, Frisk quickly apologized.

"Heh. No foul, no harm. Where are you going in such a hurry, anyway?"

Frisk tells you that they wanted to check out the paintball range. They ask you if you want to come with them.

"E-eh? Me?" you said, feigning surprise. "Why?"

Frisk points to where they remember you keep your gun. Its sleek black leather holster sticks out, and you pat it self-consciously.

"Huh. I should be hiding it better, shouldn't I?" you laugh sheepishly. "Anyways, sure. I'll go check out the kiddie range with you. Sounds fun."

 _"Awesome! I had no one to go with since I wanted to go on such a short notice,"_ Frisk absentmindedly said, omitting parts of the truth where it was such a short notice that they technically didn't ask anybody yet. To be honest, they were quite surprised you said yes so easily.

"They have people who play there all day, no? You would've had fun anyway," you commented, hand occasionally tugging down your jacket to hide the gun. Frisk didn't mention it.

 _"Yeah, but now I got a handsome face to go with me,"_ Frisk winked at you.

(Somehow, that felt really familiar to you.)

"Handsome, sure. Butter me up, why don't you?" you grinned back. "I won't go easy on you."

When the two of you arrived, the range was fairly empty. However, that didn't mean there weren't a lot of people. The range was simply big—obstacle courses and barricades made of hay, cardboard, duct tape, and scrap metal littered the field. There were even old playgrounds disguised as spaceships for people to roam.

"Woah. I didn't know they had that here," you whistled, impressed.

 _"I know! Well, I didn't know. My uncle told me about it hidden behind the park and I just had to check it out!"_ Frisk half-lied. But it was half-truth, so that was fine. You were in too much awe of the fun you could potentially have here to call Frisk out for anything.

"Alright then, what are we waiting for?!" you pulled Frisk along, heading to the ticket stall for admission.

Frisk stared at you, slightly stunned at your enthusiasm.

"Good morning, what can I do for you today?"

"We'd like two admissions please," you smiled.

"Right. Here you are," the two of you were handed a suit and a visor. "The suit is just to protect your current clothes. The visor though, is how to mark your opponent "out." You can't shoot if your visor's all stained with paint after all. That'll be $20." You hand over the money, paying for both you and Frisk without prompting.

"Come on!" you said to an immobile Frisk. They snapped out of it and put on the suit, quick to follow in your footsteps. "Alright, so I have blue pellets. You?"

 _"Red."_

"You better run then," you grinned mischievously, deft fingers already loading your plastic shooter. When Frisk continued to stare at you, you pointed the gun at their bum—

Pew! Pew, pew, pew!

They squealed and started fleeing, giggling as you chased after them with exaggeratedly loud footsteps.

"I'm GONNA GETCHA!" you roared, cackling all the way.

Splat!

You turned around, and see that some of the red players that were already there were trying to buy Frisk time. When they saw you spotting them, they ducked behind their covers.

"You wanna play dirty, ohhh we're gonna get dirty," you chuckled darkly.

 ** _*The First Linebreak that doesn't signify a RESET.*_**

"Huff…huff…hff…surrender…hff…" you waved your gun threateningly. You were the only blue player left.

"NEVER!" the leader of the red team shouted back down at you, before ducking back into their fort.

"Surrender…hff…or face my…WRATH!" you cackled, waving around a paint bomb.

"Where in the fresh hells did they get that?!" the red team panicked as you launched it.

As time went on, the people who came in the range chose red team as the blue team slowly died and dwindled away, leaving you the sole survivor. The admissions worker had thought it a normal thing, because in the next few hours, more blue players would come in and overwhelm the red team. It was a vicious cycle of teeter-and-totter…or so he thought.

What really happened was that you aggressively took out all the red team members, and the former blue team felt sympathy. They decided to gang up on you. It didn't help that the only red paint bullet that hit you was the one in the very beginning, when you were distracted by chasing after Frisk instead.

The admissions worker had popcorn now, enjoying what used to be a boring job of watching people shoot each other, to watching people shoot at you. Of course, he felt a little smidgen of pity for you and let you have some paint grenades too.

SPLASH!

Blue splattered on multiple people, not exactly staining their visors, but covering them with enough azure shades that it was clear that if this was a real battlefield, their bodies would be gone.

"DO YOU SURRENDER NOW?!" you shouted, almost breathlessly.

"NEVE—"

The red team leader was going to repeat his refusal but Frisk pulled him down and whispered.

You stared impatiently, waiting for their next move.

"State your terms!"

"Uh…" you stared. "What?"

"You wanted us to surrender. State your terms."

You continued to stare, stunned. You didn't really expect them to ask for…well. If they wanted, then you'll play your part.

"Fully unconditional surrender. Basically, your traitors, who I will execute," you grinned evilly at one of the people you knew switched teams. He flinched. "Your money, your ammunition, your family, wives, and children."

"GASP! YOU HEAR THAT, RED TEAM? BLUE IS A TYRANT! A TYRANT WE MUST STAND UP AGAINST!"

You rolled your eyes in good nature and grinned like silly.

"WE WILL HAVE YOUR HEAD FOR THIS TYRANNY!"

"You gotta catch me first!" you taunted, sticking out your tongue in a mocking manner. "I'll h—"

SPLAT!

You froze.

Turned around.

Frisk grinned at you. They had shot you at point blank range, having snuck behind you when the red team leader traded chitchat with you.

"Oh, it's on."

Frisk started to flee but you didn't let them. With the handy use of your arm, you put them under a headlock while your other hand rummaged in the bag that held all your ammo. Whipping out your bombs, you forgo pulling the plastic zipper and straight out cracked it like an egg onto Frisk's head and into Frisk's hair.

"Get smashed!" you crowed, using all your grenades on Frisk. The blue goo splattered everywhere, and to make it worse, you rubbed it in thoroughly like shampoo. You were still winded from taking out half of the original red team solo, but you had enough energy to dunk this sneaky gremlin. Their hair was a messy of blue when—

SPLAT!

Frisk's hand slaps onto your visor, red paint obscuring your view.

"Oh no," you gasped breathlessly and collapsed dramatically. "I've been defeated."

Suddenly, the sound of the red team whooping and applause sounded from around you. Despite not being able to see the happy expressions of every stranger that became a friend in the span of a paintball war, you could imagine it, and the image was infectious.

You laughed out loud, genuine and belly-achingly infectious, and Frisk grinned at you. It was the most they've ever seen of you, and they wanted more.

They wanted to genuinely be your friend.

 _ ***The Last Linebreak that doesn't signify a RESET.***_

"You're a pretty cool kid, you know that?" you said, once the two of you got out of the range and cleaned up slightly. The admissions worker had given both of you complementary towels, and though it wasn't the best, it did clean up quite a bit of paint. Your clothes were stiff with sweat and small splatters of paint, but nothing a nice bath wouldn't fix. Your hair on the other hand, well. You would probably need a trim. Luckily, you weren't as bad as Frisk's mess.

 _"Not as cool as the person who faced a whole battalion of soldiers,"_ Frisk replied. _"I never expected you to go solo! That was so COOL!"_

"Yeah, well, it's hard NOT to be cool when all your teammates abandon you," you laughed, jamming your hands into your pockets. You had taken off your gloves as those had long since been ruined by a combination of purple paint. It felt weird having bare hands. "Sure, I slaughtered red team, but you gotta pity me for being left behind by my own team."

 _"If you didn't get left behind, then we would have nobody to face against. There are no heroes if there are no tyrants to fight against!"_

"True," you chuckled at their enthusiasm. "Anyways, sorry about your hair. It'll be a pain to get all that paint out."

 _"I should say the same for you. Why didn't you take off your gloves when we were playing around? Your hands would've been easier to wash than leather,"_ Frisk asked.

"Aesthetics," you shrugged. "What can I say? I like dominating, but I like dominating and looking good even more."

 _"But what about when it gets really hot?! You'll still wear that?"_

"Hell yes. Aesthetics," you grinned easily. "Well, maybe I'll change to fingerless gloves."

(In truth, you wore gloves so you wouldn't leave evidence from crime scenes. There was no hope of killing anyone today though, seeing that the gloves were all covered ruined.)

 _"Hey, my house is just around the corner. I can ask mom to lend you a shower,"_ Frisk offered.

"No thanks buddy. My place isn't that far, and you need that shower more than I do," you smiled. "By the way, what's your name?"

Frisk froze. Should they…should they tell you now? Would you kill them, once 6 o'clock comes?

"Kiddo? You okay?"

 _"Frisk. My name…is Frisk."_

"…oh. Uh, I'm [Reader,]" you replied, looking a few shades paler.

(You had let your guard down, what the hell were you thinking? Don't get attached to the target. The first rule of assassination, and you broke it willy nilly. Some assassin you were.)

"Uh, kid, I gotta go. I got work early tomorrow morning and all…so yeah. I'll see you later, kay?"

 _"Yeah."_

They knew it. They messed up. They shouldn't have told you. They really thought they've gotten through to you! They—they just needed one more day.

A week later, at the public ceremony—

BANG!

Maybe it was just wishful thinking, but Frisk heard whispered words in the wind, and a gleam of something other than a weapon—a gleam of a droplet—

("I'm sorry.")

* * *

No matter how many times Frisk tried, they never got the same result again.

Every invite to the paintball range was shot down, and you simply walked on. The resulting deaths were always at the public ceremony, a single sniping shot, quick and painlessly in the head. Frisk faintly remembered in the first public ceremony death that the shots were more painfully aimed at their torso.

Trudging with a melting ice cream cone, they turn around the corner once more—

 _"Oof!"_

Your body was as anchored as ever.

"Oh jeez. Sorry kid! You okay?"

Ice cream splattered on the ground.

"Hey, how about I treat you to another one?"

It was all the same.

"Gee kiddo, you look so glum," you said once you got them their vanilla cone. "What's up?"

 _"The sky,"_ Frisk grinned weakly.

"C'mon now, don't be like that. I'm a stranger, so it's easy to spill your guts to me!" you grinned back. You had no idea how literal your statement was, but you continued. "Whatever's bothering you, I won't judge."

 _"Well…it's just…I got a lot on my mind,"_ Frisk started slowly, but it was quick to come pouring out. _"There are a lot of things I want to do, things that aren't easy, and things that people certainly don't like. I'm trying my best, but sometimes, even my best doesn't work! It's so frustrating, you know? Trying so hard for something, only for it to mean nothing in the end. I…I started out really determined, but now? I just…"_

"Feel like giving up?" you finished.

 _"No! I'll never give up! Giving up does nothing. I want it, so I'll do it!"_ Frisk huffed.

"That's a good outlook on life. It'll probably get you far kiddo," you chuckled bitterly. "But sometimes, don't you think it's easier to just not care?"

Frisk stared at you. _"What?"_

"I used to be like you kid. If I want something done, I'd do it myself," you shrugged. "But life doesn't work that way. It's got rules it wants us to follow, and follow it we do. Eventually, I just found myself not caring. Things are the way things are. It's easier that way."

And wasn't that the truth? After all, an assassin has nothing to fight for. Nothing but money.

People who had something to fight for—friends, family, convictions—would never take up the life of a hired killer. Even psychopaths and serial killers were better than assassins in that regard.

 _"No!"_ Frisk crossed their arms. _"If nobody in the world cared about anything, then what's the point in living?! If only one person cared, then that person would rule over all the others who don't have an opinion! The only reason the world is the way it is, is because people FIGHT for it! People don't ju-just, just…GIVE UP!"_

All of a sudden, they realized—they were right. If you didn't care, and they didn't care, who would? Frisk realized that they still had to care, for your sake. Even if you probably didn't feel the same, all these resets have turned you into a sorta-friend already. While the dates weren't really that revealing about you, the times were enjoyable, and when they took you to the shooting range, they saw a human side of you.

Even if your LOVE was high as heaven on a scale of 1 to 20, you were still capable of some good things.

You stared, stunned at the passion Frisk launched at you. Then, slowly, you began to laugh. The way their nose scrunched up when trying to say the words "give up," as if it was wasn't in their vocabulary, was hilarious. "Ha. Haha! Oh, kiddo. Look at me, unloading my burden on you when I offered to listen to yours…"

 _"N-no, it's fine,"_ Frisk turned away, embarrassed. _"I…I think I found my determination again."_

"Heh. Well, you spilled your heart to me. Think you can answer me a question?"

 _"W-what?"_

"What's got your spirit to be all down like that in the first place? You don't seem old enough for anything that big. I mean, kids like you stay indoors and play video games!" you commented.

 _"I'm the monster ambassador."_

It spilled out of their mouth before they could stop it.

"Ah. I see," you nodded calmly. Frisk stared at you, not sure if you were truly unfazed or masking it with another one of those assassin personas again. You were such a confusing character—sometimes you were happy throughout the whole timeline, sometimes you got annoyed with no cause at all, and only one time did you show your true face. The one time Frisk could have succeeded in befriending you, and they failed…

Their earlier sour mood began to come back and Frisk stared at the ground. How were they going to bring that human side of you back out again?

(Little did they know, you were already starting to remember what it was like to be human again.)

"Hey, kid. I know it seems really hard right now, but hang in there," you said, patting their head and shaking them out of their reverie. "You remind me of someone—I don't know who really—but it makes me want to root for you. So hang in there."

Frisk just nodded.

"Well, see ya around kiddo."

Frisk hung around, finishing their ice cream before heading home. By the time they were in their room, they waited for their death. It was either tonight or tomorrow morning—at least no two deaths were alike. They wondered what you would do next. Maybe pump the vents with laughing gas? It would be an interesting way to go.

They stared at the ceiling, slowly drifting off in an uneasily sleep.

When morning came and they were still alive, they shook their head. Well, maybe you'll kill them at the public ceremony again. You were just so unpredictable sometimes, but at the same time, you made your enmity rather boring.

No, Frisk wasn't bored, per say. No, they were more…sad. Sad that you weren't a straight out fri—

A piece of paper slipped from their pocket.

 **(XXX)XXX-XXXX. If you ever need someone to help you.**

Frisk's heart skipped a beat.

You never gave them your phone number before. Was it really that easy to get your friendship? Just a few words exchanged over how unfair and tiring the world was? They didn't get you at all.

What did they do different this time? Was this it? Would you stop killing them now?

Frisk allowed their guard to drop. Maybe…yeah. Maybe this was it. Absentmindedly, they remembered that you didn't wear gloves that day. Maybe…you…remember?

A week later, Frisk heard the public ceremony speech again.

"Welcome ladies, gentlemen, and gentle-monsters," Toriel spoke, her voice booming but soft at the same time. "Today, we celebrate the fourth year anniversary of the Surfacing. We monsters knew next to nothing and it took time, but we've integrated into welcoming parts of your society and flourished. For that, I thank you. I thank your open hearts and your open minds, for—"

BANG!

Screams filled the air as a gunshot was recognized. Frisk sat in a daze—they weren't in pain. For once, they were not the ones shot. Instead, a black-clad body was falling from one of the buildings, clearly the victim—oh god, was that you?!

…no…

The body was too bulky. Sure you were a wall of steel, but you weren't that buff. They could also see that the body's hands were bare, and it couldn't be you because you were always wear leather gloves. Always.

The crowds parted as security rushed onto the scene.

"—bzzt—identified—rooftop shooter—bzzt."

Frisk took in a deep breath. So…the shooter wasn't you?

No.

They see you on the other building, close enough to identify your gleaming shades and familiar casual clothes. The large gun you held looked misplaced next to your street apparel. You were the shooter, but today, instead of shooting them, you shot the other shooters.

You seemed to notice their eyes on you. Giving a jaunty wave, you were quick to disappear.

"Good luck, kiddo."

* * *

 _ **Frisk**_

 _ **Thanks for the save.**_

 **(XXX)XXX-XXXX**

 **No problem. I'm rooting for ya.**

Frisk clutched their cell phone with a smile.

They were filled with DETERMINATION.

* * *

 **A/N: I'm back babeh! This is actually just a repost of a story I had on Ao3. It was a two-shot that never got updated from a one-shot, but I'm working on it now!**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Behold, the second chapter! To be honest, I rewrote this seven times over the course of a year and it still wasn't satisfying, so I hoped to leave it as a one-shot before I reposted. However, two weeks after that, it all came rushing to me and I stayed up two in the morning to get it all down on outline before polishing it. And then I hit my 7000 word limit, waited a week, re-read it, and felt I did a crappy job…so this is the final product. Just an epilogue to go, and this will be completed…hurrah!**

* * *

"Another."

Silver liquid cascaded down into a waiting glass, and as the final drop settled, it was quickly knocked back. Your throat burned, but your eyes didn't water. You would prefer to drink at home, where no one could take advantage of your inebriated state, but all the alcohol you possessed was already gone and any place that sold quality liquor was long closed.

No winery worth their salt would make themselves that vulnerable to the seedier people of the night, paying customer or not.

"My, what's a pretty face like yours doing in this dump?"

You looked up as a pretty woman slid in the seat across from yours, sensual grin on her red-painted lips. Her make-up was heavy, but not in a way that made her hideous. In a sense, it was flattering to her low-cut dress.

"I could say the same to you," you replied, managing not to slur.

"Oh, you charmer," she rolled her eyes. "So what is it? A broken heart? Some man/woman leave your bed cold?"

"Are you talking about yourself?" you rebuked.

"Ah, there's no need for such hostility. I'm just a girl looking for a good night," she shrugged her bare shoulders nonchalantly before grinning again. Her eyes, half-lidded, slid over your body. "Alas, I could also be the one to give someone a good night."

"No thanks," you snorted, looking away. "It's not what you think."

"It rarely is," the woman replied. She then turned away to wave the bartender over, placed her order, and clicked her nails rhythmically against the counter top. It was as if she was waiting for you to speak.

Much to her disappointment, you weren't much in a speaking mood. If you were, you wouldn't be here in this bar, contemplating the existence of your life.

You were an assassin. You still are, and yet, you spared the life of a child you usually wouldn't bat an eye to killing. You would wonder why this child was so special, disregarding their political stance, but that's all in the past. The fact of the matter was:

You failed a hit.

And you were most likely going to pay for that.

Furthermore, not only were you going to pay for it dearly, but so would the child. You weren't the best assassin out there, so what guarantee would you have that no one else would kill the child? Famous as they are, it was no doubt that another hit—with a higher bounty too, you bet—would be placed soon, and worst case scenario, this new assassin would succeed where you failed.

On another note, you weren't the worst assassin out there either, and you had a reputation. When word gets out that you FAILED…

Well.

It was a whole other can of worms you didn't want to open.

"Oh, come on, handsome," the woman cooed once she got her drink. "Are you sure you don't want to spend a night with moi? One night is all I ask for."

You knocked back another drink…

"No thanks."

…and left a tip for the waiter.

You already knew you were going to have one hell of a headache. You didn't want to add the woman to that equation.

* * *

"Hurk—!"

Your stomach rolled and your throat burned. (It's worse coming up than it was going down.) It's a sensation you've long forgotten, a sensation that you haven't had since your first killed.

The toilet seat warmed up as you braced yourself over it, puking your guts out. To be honest, you don't remember why you had such a—

 _Bzzt. Bzzt._

You looked at your phone.

 **Frisk**

 _ **Thanks for the save.**_

Oh.

Right.

You failed at your job.

You're a failure in life.

You even failed to keep your identity secret.

How did that kid know it was you anyway?!

You were pretty sure you were being discreet.

Maybe you were slipping in on your years.

A decade of service is pretty long already, no? Your ledger should be pretty long.

Maybe some second-class syndicate would take you in. A contract for protection, rather than freelancing.

Or maybe you should just quit.

Retire early.

Find a nice beachside home in Holland. Grow a big garden…hopefully poisonous enough to prevent any intruders so you can relax. Retired assassins never live the rest of their life peacefully, right? You'll endeavor to. If it's by the sea, maybe you'll raise a few pet sharks. Alternatively, you could have piranhas. It's not size, it's about quality, right? Piranhas were much more vicious than sharks, being all bloodthirsty even when there was no blood.

You stared at your phone screen. Its bright LED glare was more effective in stimulating your tear ducts than the alcohol you had a few hours ago. The text cursor blinked mockingly, telling you that you needed to reply.

But you didn't need to reply…right?

 **(XXX)XXX-XXXX**

 **No problem.**

But you replied anyway.

Still, the cursor blinked.

Perhaps you should warn Frisk about the upcoming assassins. Perhaps you should tell them about who employed you, and that he would probably employ more of you to make sure the job got done. Perhaps you should give them some advice—who to trust, how to spot on assassin, what to do when they do spot that assassin, how to escape from said assassin—

 **I'm rooting for ya.**

But that was their problem.

This headache you're currently nursing is yours.

* * *

 **Frisk**

 _ **Want to hang out with me?**_

Okay, so maybe you've been a bit too hasty in just abandoning the kid to their own fate. They were just too trusting; there was absolutely no way they were going to be fine without you there.

 **(XXX)XXX-XXXX**

 **Where to?**

 **Frisk**

 _ **I picked last time. You choose!**_

Still, it came to be such a surprise that you got into your car, and the next thing you knew, a skeleton monster was sitting next to you and a middle schooler was cheering in the back. The time between the drive of your apartment and Frisk's house was frighteningly blank.

"GREETINGS HUMAN! I AM THE GREAT PAPYRUS! FRISK HAS TOLD ME A LOT ABOUT YOU!"

"N-nice to meet you, Papyrus," you responded, taken aback by the clear ENTHUSIASM you were attacked with.

" _I'm sorry that I didn't tell you about Papyrus, but I thought it would be more fun if he came along! Not to mention you'd get to make a few more friends! You seemed really lonely the last time I met you—"_ Frisk rambled as they put on the seatbelt.

"Alright, listen up," you huffed, turning your body slightly to face the child. "Never get into a car with strangers. You don't even know my name!"

" _Sure I do! It's [Reader]!_ " they responded cheekily as you started the car.

"I'm pretty sure I didn't give you my name," you quirked an eyebrow into the rearview mirror, which showed Frisk's grinning visage.

" _It was on the paper with your number on it,_ " Frisk convinced adamantly.

"…I'm pretty sure it wasn't…was it?" you hummed. On one hand, it would make complete sense that you put your name down with your number because that's just common courtesy, right? On the other hand, you were very, VERY sure you never wrote your name.

As an assassin, one's identity was the most dangerous thing to have on your person. It's become a habit for you to FORCE yourself to write down your name for anything.

"Well, the point is, you should never get into a car with a person you're not familiar with!" you argued.

"WHILE I'M SURE THAT FALLS UNDER THE RULES OF 'STRANGER DANGER,' YOU AREN'T A STRANGER!" Papyrus intervened. "ISN'T THAT RIGHT, FRISK?"

Even if you could drive with one hand, you refrained from face-palming. Great, you were dealing with two children. And to think the skeleton was there for adult supervision…

The car ride was filled with the two fiddling with your car radio. Sadly, there weren't any CDs for them to play with—discovering a stranger's music collection was no doubt fun—but they made due with the modern pop music. Half an hour later, you were only slightly reluctant to admit that you had fun too.

" _So where are we?"_ Frisk asked as you pulled into a crowded parking lot.

"And that, is why you do not get into a car with a stranger," you muttered under your breath, but was unable to actually restart that argument. You were pretty sure they—as in both Frisk and Papyrus—would find a million reasons as to why you're not a 'stranger.' "We're at an amusement park."

Two beaming faces looked at you with pure elation, and you weren't sure how comfortable you were in it.

"Alright, let's go get our tickets," you sighed, turning off the engine. "Daylight's burning, and I heard this was a pretty big place."

They were quick to take off their seatbelts and rocket off to where they thought the ticket booths were. You rolled your eyes, and took your time getting out of the car. Scanning the crowds, you took a deep breath. Highly populated places were both blessings and curses for assassins. On one hand, it meant less chances of being discovered. On another hand, it also meant less chances of discovering threats.

" _Come on!"_ Frisk took your gloved hand and pulled when you lingered a bit too long. _"I thought you were here to have fun with us!"_

"Alright, alright," you placated. "I'm coming."

When the pulling came to a stop, you froze.

" _Let's go on that one first!"_ Frisk grinned, pointing at the largest roller coaster in the park.

"Uh, how about I sit this one out, kiddo? I don't think I'm cut out for this—"

" _COME ON!"_

The strength of an adolescent was not to be underestimated. You couldn't possibly say no—or rather, you tried, and failed.

By the time your brain had gathered enough wits to come up with an excuse—whether it worked or not remained to be seen—you were already sitting in between the two immature DELINQUENTS, strapped onto this deathtrap that they call FUUUUUUUUN—

Your stomach seemed to punch itself into your diaphragm and the world plummeted.

You screamed.

* * *

It was nearing evening when the three of you sat down on a bench, exhausted. Surprisingly, the one to throw up first was not you. In fact, you kept your breakfast pretty well. Still, your throat hurt from all the caterwauling that you did, and your migraine seemed to have come back with a vengeance.

You were mentally tired, Papyrus was slightly dizzy, and Frisk was still the energetic ball of…something. You really were getting old, and retirement sounded nice around this time.

" _How about one more ride?"_ Frisk asked, bouncing up and down, anticipation and slight disappointment in the day's end.

"Sorry kid, I'm pooped," you groaned. "Why don't we end the day with some ice cream?"

They perked up, and you gave a mental pat to yourself on the shoulder as you handed over some money. It was hard facing an adamant Frisk. You swear, you've never met a kid more DETERMINED than they were.

(Throughout the day, you had fun, yes, but perhaps you had also found the answer as to why the job was a bust. Perhaps now, you had a reason why they were just…untargeted by you. It's not that you won't kill them. It's simply that you can't.)

When they left, you expected yourself to relax slightly, but instead you tensed up.

The sun kissed the horizon in a brilliant blaze of orange, and gentle winds started to descend upon the plaza. Families were going into cramped restaurants, and the lines for the rides were dwindling. Perhaps it was the emptiness of what you associated to be a normally crowded area, but even as the din was as loud as ever, your nerves kept you alert.

Eyes.

You felt eyes on you.

"IS SOMETHING WRONG?" Papyrus asked you worriedly.

"Nah. I think I'm just paranoid," you excused. (A quiet voice in your mind told you that paranoia was the key to survival for someone like you.) The hairs on the back of your neck prickled, and you fingered the small knife you kept strapped on your belt. Quietly, you slipped it inside your glove.

When Frisk returned with the ice cream, the three of you basked in the beautiful evening. Or, well, you tried to and the other two chatted your ears off. Throughout the day, you've learned to lend half an ear to the topics they conversed over—which were rather mediocre and ordinary subjects over friends, school, and Papyrus's brother, Sans—but all in all, you were able to let it drift in the background. You almost didn't notice when the two stopped talking.

Looking over at their peaceful forms, you frowned as they fell asleep.

Does this mean you had to carry them back to the car? How troublesome.

Standing up to start the journey home, your frown deepened as your vision multiplied to doubles and triples. The sky fell down and—

"Hello there."

The last thing you saw was a pair of gleaming black shades.

When you woke up again, you were sitting on a simple wooden chair and your arms were bent at hard angles, not quite breaking joints but close enough. From what you could feel and guess, you were tied together with Frisk and Papyrus. Your mouth was gagged with a painfully tight-bound cloth, and your legs were strapped to the legs of the chair. The first thought that crossed your mind was that the ice cream was drugged, and you should've noticed. After this, you really were going to retire. If you made such simple mistakes…well, assassin-life just wasn't meant for you.

Also, your gloves were off and your little knife was missing.

The only lighting available was a single light bulb dangling at the center of where you, Frisk, and Papyrus were tied, making it hard to see your surroundings. You could make faint outlines of boxes and crates, as well as the exit and some guards. You deduced that it was some type of warehouse, and by the looks of things, the very back of the warehouse, making escape near impossible. Nearly. There were only three guards after all.

The moment you twitched, one guard went out the door, most likely to inform your captor.

It wasn't long before you could see who it was—Belial. Two more guards followed her in.

"Hello there, darling," she breathed, and you growled. She was the woman disguised back in the bar, the employer that you told you couldn't do the job—

She ripped off your gag painfully. It wasn't like ripping off duct tape, where adhesive would tear at your skin. It was just a cloth she yanked off, the knot making sure the pull was painful, and the roughness of the material making sure your skin got slide burns.

SLAP!

"Answer me," she growled.

"Sweet as always, Belial," you obligingly replied.

"Do you know it's rude to snub a lady? Twice, three times in fact," she commented nonchalantly, nearly ignoring your reply and throwing the cloth behind her back. Her heels clicked on the cement floor as she circled the three of you, and you kept your head down. What do you do? If you were alone, all you had to do was making an opening and mad-dash your way out, but you weren't alone, were you? "You told me you were able to kill the ambassador child, and I believed you. Who wouldn't believe the Ghost after all? But then you told me that you couldn't, and that was okay. What wasn't okay, was the fact you killed the men I sent afterwards. MY men."

You could feel Frisk trying to struggle out of the bonds. Clearly they've realized that this woman was the reason there were assassins after them. Papyrus was shaking slightly, and that made you worry. You couldn't help the concern that crossed through your eyes.

"But I understand now," Belial said softly, fingers on your chin and forcing your eyes to meet hers. "You've grown to CARE for them, haven't you? Soft. Sweet. Touching…haha."

She let your face go as her chuckles grew shriller.

"You're a disgrace as an assassin. In the name of other professional killers, you're a SHAME! Those who have sacrificed humanity for their pride, who would put their job above all else…can you hear them scolding you for this…disobedience you show for their career?" she ranted, and you sighed. She was putting too much thought into it. A job was a job, for money to put food on the table. It was all you knew. "But it's okay. You can redeem yourself."

You felt the ropes lessen their bite, and cautiously, you pulled your arms from its positions. As you stood up, stunned that she would allow you free even after calling you out on your subtle betrayal, a revolver was slid to your feet.

"Kill the child."

You looked up at Belial, and her constant smile was gone. Her eyes gleamed with malice, and you understood she was serious. Both of her guards had their guns out pointed at you as a precaution. How smart of them. Thoughtfully, you assumed the two guards standing at the door also had firearms. You were at a great disadvantage.

"And the skeleton?" you asked, voice struggling to stay neutral as you picked the weapon up. Fiddling with it, you realized they only gave you one bullet. **How generous.**

"Oh, I just wanted the child dead, but when the skeleton came with them, I thought of killing them both! However…they're your 'friends,' right? I'll let you off with killing just the child," Belial grinned in a mocking manner, inspecting her nails.

"Separate them. I don't want to accidentally kill both," you replied. You studiously ignored Frisk's frightened face, Papyrus's increased shaking, and Belial's suspicious gaze.

"Well boys? You heard Ghost. Untie them," Belial ordered one of her lackeys. He approached warily, eyes no doubt trained on you behind those shades, even as he approached the two hostages. He put down his handgun before untying Frisk.

Frisk's ropes were loosened just like yours, except they were too shaky to stand. Using their arms, they scooted back away from you, eyes unusually and equally sad and defiant.

Spinning the gun in one hand, your other hand remained suspiciously blocked from the view of Belial and her cronies. (Sign language's finest use.)

" _Calm down Frisk."_

Your steps were slow, but steady enough to portray intent.

" _On the count of three, run."_

Their face remained scared, but you could see they understood. You approached them and they continued to scoot backwards until their back hit the wall.

" _One."_

Being near the wall meant less likely of being shot in the back. Good.

" _Two."_

You clicked off the safety of the gun. Sweat formed on your temple.

" _Three. GO!"_

BANG!

You had spun around like lightning and nailed Belial in the shoulder.

The goons began to shout orders to one another when Belial screeched, but you paid little attention to that. Frisk was already halfway to the exit. The smart brat decided to use the scatters of crates and boxes as shields, and it was a huge weight off your shoulders to know they won't be hit by stray gunfire.

You dove for the gun the man had put down when untying Frisk, but the weapon's original handler had the same idea.

When both your and his hands fought for control over the weapon, Belial's other guard took her aim, shaky arms training on you.

Using the empty revolver, you slammed the butt of the gun across the handgun guard's temples and his grip and body grew slack enough for you to maneuver him in the way—BANG! BANG!—

The female guard gasped in horror and was stunned as she shot down her co-worker. In her lapse of judgment and hesitation, you tackled her to the ground and forced her face down, straddling her back. Two down.

In the time it took for you to subdue the two, the door guards approached within range, but before they could open fire, you let loose your hail of bullets first.

One got shot in the hand, the other dropped to the ground like a coward.

You didn't aim to kill, not with Papyrus and Frisk here, and that might have been your fatal mistake.

The female guard regained her bearings and bucked you off, her elbow slamming into your jaw and making you drop the handgun.

Disorientated, you just barely recognized the telltale click of a gun at your forehead aimed by the female guard—

" **STOP**."

Blood pounded in your ears.

Your chest heaved with exhaustion.

You were an assassin, not a frontline fighter, and it showed.

"But boss!" the female guard protested. "He clearly isn't going to coo—"

"SILENCE!" Belial roared.

A loud, unholy screech filled your ears as Belial dragged Papyrus's chair into your view. The female guard's gun was still focused on your forehead.

"You are, so, so luck that I'm **nice** , Ghost," Belial hissed. She then kicked the dropped handgun within your reach. "Pick it up."

You did.

"You know how we gangs deal with business, right?" Belial asked rhetorically. "An eye for an eye…" her own gun trailed its way up to Papyrus's shoulder. "You have a choice. Shoot yourself in the shoulder, or I'll shoot him in the shoulder."

You hesitated.

You were an assassin, not a frontline fighter. You killed from a distance, or if the target was easy, you killed with a single shot. You rarely took harm to yourself, and you weren't afraid to admit that you've never been shot on a job before.

"My, I thought you were friends," Belial cackled. You tried to ignore Papyrus's torn expression, but you couldn't. He was even too frightened to say anything, but you couldn't blame him. Belial looked absolutely psychotic. "You have three seconds, Ghost. One. Two…"

BANG!

Blood gushed, and then dripped sluggishly down your arm.

"Oh my goodness!" Belial gasped, a mixture of delight and shock in her tone. "You actually did it! Wow…let's see if it was just a fluke. The stomach, or rather, the spine is next. Five seconds!"

You couldn't help but compare her to a child.

"You're not going to do it?" she asked in disappointment. "Maybe you are a cold-hearted assassin after all."

"Hey," you growled to the female guard, who flinched at your attention.

"W-what…?" she snarled, none too gently.

"Shoot me in the back."

* * *

Papyrus never knew that humans could be so brutal.

The first few years in the human world wasn't pleasant—in fact, it was far from pleasant, as all humans were afraid of them. Some went even as far as to hate them! If it wasn't for the various children who adored the fantasy genre of literature and the writers of fantasy themselves, the monster population would either be forced to go back under the mountain, or to dwindle to nothing.

But in all his experiences, Papyrus never expected humans to hurt one another so severely and with so much hatred.

This woman—Belial, he heard you call her—had such malevolence in her soul. Every time she spoke, a flare of spite coursed through the area. Against a human, he had nothing to fear, but he has seen what those weapons do to monsters. One shot could turn them all to dust.

And yet, you had taken it upon your shoulders to bear the wounds instead.

After having the woman guard shoot you in the back, Belial found little joy in your lack of fighting spirit. Her guards convinced her to tend to her own wound before dealing with you any further, and if you died bleeding out on the floor—well good riddance!

You had collapsed in a puddle of red, grunting when an involuntary muscle twitched.

"HUMAN? ARE YOU AWAKE? I AM SORRY YOU HAD TO CHOOSE BETWEEN MY SAFETY AND YOURS. IT WOULD HAVE BEEN FINE! THE GREAT PAPYRUS COULD NEVER BE BEATEN BY MEASLY METAL PELLETS, NYEHEHEH!"

"Hh…not…"

"HUMAN?"

"Not…YOUR fa…fault…" your words were stilted in pain, but you still tried. Using your good arm, you pushed yourself up and sat back on your ankles, even as muscles you didn't know you had burned in agony. "We'll…get out. Promise."

The only sound for a long while was your panting and struggle to remain awake. Your slick hands stemmed the bleeding, and using the mouth gag that Belial had tossed, you administered first aid onto yourself, specifically your shoulder. There was no helping the wound on your back, and it probably wasn't that bad anyway if it wasn't bleeding so much.

Slowly scooting yourself to Papyrus, your shaky fingers start to untie the knots on his limbs.

"YOU KNOW, WHEN FRISK FIRST TOLD US ABOUT YOU, WE THOUGHT YOU WERE A NICE PERSON, IF A BIT VIOLENT. WE DIDN'T KNOW THAT YOU WERE…"

"A hired…killer?" you filled in for him with a grim smile.

His silence was telling.

"YES. THAT. BUT EVEN NOW THAT I TRULY KNOW WHAT YOU ARE…I DO NOT FEEL AS IF I NEED TO STOP YOUR ACQUAINTANCE WITH FRISK," he smiled at this. "IN FACT, I FEEL AS IF I WANT TO BE YOUR FRIEND AS WELL."

"I'm not the type of person you want for a friend…my…history says it all," you muttered, managing to free one of Papyrus's arm.

"THAT'S FOR US TO JUDGE, ISN'T IT?"

This time, you were the silent one. As you freed his other arm, the remainder of the knots were easily taken care of.

"I wasn't protecting you when I had that woman shoot me in the back," you replied glumly, trying to shake off the thoughts of friendship. "If I had shot myself in the stomach, I would have died for sure."

"BUT BY PROTECTING YOURSELF, YOU CAN NOW HELP BOTH OF US ESCAPE, NO?"

Dang. That wasn't the point you wanted to convey, but you can't fight against that logic.

* * *

You had rested in the warehouse for a bit longer before bracing yourself for outside, and Papyrus had given you some Monster Candy for further recovery.

Luckily for the both of you, Belial had indeed expected you to die of blood loss and only stationed the barest amount of sentinels, all of which you knocked out.

To your further surprise, it seemed that she wasn't exactly stupid. With the warehouse being near a harbor, escape routes are much more limited. However, a coastal escape would mean she wouldn't be able to catch up, and in your injured state, stowing away on a ship was your best bet.

And that's exactly what you're going to do. Escape in a shipping crate.

"Here, let me get in first so you don't get crushed," you huffed, settling your battered body into the wooden enclosure—and it took every ounce of restraint not to just follow your instincts to destroy this cage around you—and you prayed that your body would keep itself together for the next few hours.

"HUMAN, ARE YOU SURE YOU WANT TO SIT LIKE THAT?! IT LOOKS…VERY UNCOMFORTABLE," Papyrus frowned.

"Just…get in Papyrus. I'll be fine," you lied. At this point, you're not sure what you are. Maybe a lump of bruised meat. It sounds about right.

You twitched as you hear distant footsteps.

"Hurry!"

At your prompting, Papyrus stepped into the crate and crouched down, bringing the crate top with him. Ideally, he would be able to bring the slab of wood and seal it above him like a manhole cover, but things never went ideally for you.

After all, in an ideal world, you'd still be working at what you know best. In an ideal world Frisk would be dead—but you don't really mean that, do you?

In fact, you were somewhat worried about Frisk, but knowing that kid…they'd find a way to escape. (They befriended you, after all, hadn't they?) At this point, you were more worried about Papyrus's ability to escape with you.

You watched with a sort of crushed despair as Papyrus tried to seal the crate, and yet, he was too tall for the box to close completely.

"AM I DOING THIS RIGHT?"

No, he wasn't, but you weren't going to straight out tell him that.

"Here, Papyrus," you sighed, placing your hands on his shoulders and pulling him down. The end result was his head against your chest, near the crook of your neck—and boy did that trigger your need to get awaygetawaygetawayfromthejugular—as you sealed the crate yourself.

Your arms strained and your ribs creaked, but you ignored Papyrus's worried hum.

Click!

The deed was done.

Your muscles relaxed and tensed, oscillating between relief and pain. Belial would never find the two of you now, and you were sure of it as the cargo ship started moving. The only thing that could make this better was if maybe there was a pillow nearby for your spine—

"YOUR HEART IS BEATING SO FAST. SURELY THE OTHER HUMAN IS WRONG. YOU COULD NEVER BE COLD-BLOODED WITH THIS KIND OF HEART RATE!"

If that wasn't a verbal pillow, you didn't know what was. Although, you could have done without it. Even as he tries to be discreet, Papyrus wasn't the sort to be quiet, and even when you were sure Belial couldn't find you two, the cargo crew probably could. A growing unease spread in your guts—and no, it probably wasn't a punctured spleen—how would Papyrus stay quiet for eight hours? Worst case scenario, sixteen hours?

"OH, YOUR HEART IS LIKE A THUNDERSTORM! FRISK AND I SAW ONE A FEW WEEKS BACK WHEN WE WENT CAMPING! IT WAS THE MOST BEAUTIFUL THING, ALMOST AS MAGNIFICIENT AS I! BY EXTENSION, YOUR HEART MUST BE JUST AS MAGNIFICIENT! ALTHOUGH, YOU ARE ALRIGHT, AREN'T YOU? I DO NOT THINK FAST HEARTS ARE HEALTHY?!"

Oh god. Someone kill you now.

* * *

For once, the world revolved ideally around you. It was only a four-hour trip as your internal clock estimated. On one hand, it also meant that you weren't as far as you liked from Belial. On the other hand, it was a blessing since your body seemed to have completely paralyzed itself as if preparing to convince someone it was dead. An hour more and you were sure you'd die of the stiffness.

On a brighter note, no one noticed you and Papyrus within the crate, and as the crewmen unloaded the cargo, Papyrus knew to stay silent.

After half an hour, you decided it would be best to get out now before the crates were shipped elsewhere, and someone discovered the two of you.

"Ah…" you involuntarily groaned, panting as you failed to get up. You didn't want to squash the skeleton monster with your movements, but it seemed that the adrenaline that allowed your muscles for the subtle movements of an assassin was gone. All that's left were jerky limbs, much like a newborn doe.

WHACK!

"Unh…"

You whimpered as your hand banged against the wall of the crate. You had simply wanted to lift your hand, but when it didn't want to obey, you yanked it and—

Well. This happened.

"HUMAN?"

You inhaled.

Ah.

"Papyrus…can you open the crate? Quietly? We need to escape before the suppliers open the crates," you murmured, stifling your heavy breathing.

There was a sort of silence that you didn't expect, and you looked right to where you think the skeleton would be. It was dark, but your eyes strained to focus on the outline of the monster's head. In the span of what would be eye contact being made, Papyrus shifted.

"OKAY."

You wondered what that was about.

The creak of wood made you tense further, and perhaps that was a rather bad decision but it was ingrained nature for you to be paranoid.

Slowly, Papyrus stood up from the box and settled the lid quietly on its side.

A cool blast of salty air brushed your face, and you shivered. The box was humid and you barely noticed you sweated, but now that you know, it was an extremely uncomfortable sensation. Chills pinched goose bumps on your arms and the palm of your hands were clammy. For a moment, you wanted the lid back on the box—

But you reminded yourself that you sure as hell weren't retiring in a half-rate delivery box. If anything, you wanted to be cremated…or be put into one of those chambers where the remains of your body was used as fertilizer for a tree. That sounded way more awesome than dying in a box. It wasn't even a fancy box—

You didn't notice as red-gloved hands cupped the back of your neck and the back of your knees until they were lifting you gently from your thoughts.

"P-Papyrus?" you squinted, letting your eyes adjust to the light. Moonlight. It wasn't much, but it was still light.

Your back—bloody and sweaty—was exposed to the air, sending more tremors through your body.

"IT'S ALRIGHT HUMAN. LET ME TAKE CARE OF YOU NOW."

He rearranged your limbs to curl around his body, and you winced and whimpered but he continued until you were a koala on his back. You couldn't help but noticed how uncomfortable he was—his spine was knobby and rough, each of his steps digging a bruise into the front of your body. His gloved hands were colder than the air that blows from the sea, and the plastic material stuck uncomfortably to the back of your knees.

And yet, as your head rested upon a red scarf and your vision darkened to a static black, you smelled cinnamon.

A sort of…magical warmth came from it.

You felt at peace.

* * *

Fridays were tough.

Friday mornings were as bad as Monday mornings because while Monday morning was the arrival of work one might dread the whole weekend, Friday morning was a tease, a promise for a break once one finishes the whole week's worth of work.

Sans would know.

He left all his work on Friday mornings, which meant it actually extended till Saturday morning. While people assume he slept in on Saturday mornings, the truth was he just started. If they knew, it wouldn't be so bad for them to accept that he needed to sleep all the way to Saturday night, but Sans was a very lazy person.

Lazy enough to listen to the nagging, and just deal.

If push comes to shove and his patience wears thin, he'll just fall asleep. Problem solved!

On some nights, however, he regrets not doing his work.

He regrets not spreading the workload throughout the week because that meant he wasn't free on Fridays.

That meant that he wasn't able to go with Papyrus and Frisk on Fridays.

That meant that he wasn't able to stop them from being KIDNAPPED—and yes, Papyrus was still very much a kid. Kidnapping applied to him too.

Witnesses say that an assassin was with them, and a chill went down Sans' spine. An assassin in black leather, they said. An assassin he swore he saw in the public event a few days back, black gun barrel gleaming on the rooftops—

When Toriel and Asgore received the news—well, the reaction wasn't pretty. But Sans couldn't deal.

Toriel and Asgore were busy. They had work they couldn't avoid, and their responsibilities demanded attention twenty-four/seven. Sans…was busy too. But his work…wasn't time-sensitive. Or at least, it wouldn't be if he had just…FINISHED throughout the week!

The next three hours was of him teleporting from haunt to haunt—the park, the library, the museums, the cafes—and when it was clear they were truly kidnapped and not just playing some cruel prank, he went back to the amusement park.

Clues, clues, clues—but nothing appeared.

Undyne had to drag his magically-drained butt back home, and sit him down for a lecture on how they were all worried, and how they all should've paid more attention, but IT WAS NOT HIS FAULT—

And then Frisk came home and Toriel called to tell them about it. The poor child was crying and sobbing, but they told Toriel and Asgore about someone named Belial, and the directions of where they came from. Papyrus and someone—he didn't really care—were still there, trapped in that madhouse of criminals and who knows what other kinds of people.

Sans was one second away from teleporting to that location.

Undyne stopped him.

He was going to tear her head off—figuratively of course, but there were other things he could do if she wouldn't let him go find his brother—but she grounded him. Told him that it was her job.

Right.

He was the Judge.

He wasn't allowed to ACT until someone committed a crime.

What use was he when he couldn't help until it was already too late?

But it was in his nature to be "lazy."

His INTEGRITY would not allow him to act before someone needed to be JUDGED.

And no one did anything worthy of judging yet. It doesn't matter that they were going to do it. It doesn't matter that he knows they were going to be guilty. It doesn't matter that Papyrus was out there, most likely hurt due to his forgiving nature.

It doesn't matter.

It doesn't matter…

"I'M HOME!"

Sans heard something he wasn't sure he was ever going to hear again, because he heard about those kidnapping stories. Some people disappear and never come back, or they do and they're completely different—either as a corpse or as a vegetable. He rushed to the house entrance, not minding the panicked and urgent tone in Papyrus's greeting, and he had to make sure this was real.

Red scarf, red gloves, red boots, all in order. Bright eyes, worried furrow of the eyebrows, and a hesitant grin, though those were to be expected after such a dangerous event such as KIDNAPPING—!

The red on Papyrus's gloves seem darker than they should be.

Sans didn't know how to feel about the assassin in black dying in his brother's arms.

* * *

In another life where you were not an assassin, but a civilian who just offered to repay Frisk for their dropped ice cream, the two of you would have a fast and painless friendship. However, Frisk would still be just as politically important and Belial would still be after their head.

You would just be collateral damage.

But in another life, Frisk would still have their saves and their loads, and they would keep on saving and loading until the same scenario of Belial's kidnapping occurs.

In both this life and another life, Undyne would arrive late, discovering a puddle of blood mixed with dust…but in another life, Undyne would find Papyrus huddled around your corpse.

Frisk was not a naïve kid.

They knew what death was. They knew what pain and suffering was. They knew what loneliness and scorn was. They knew enough to be the ambassador for a whole species of sentient beings at the tender age of nine, but not before convincing the magically-inclined population to refrain from killing them and taking their soul.

Frisk was not a naïve kid but…

Well, they never saw a friend on the verge of death. They were also sure that had you not been who you were, you'd already be dead.

It's a lot different than being killed. Was this what Toriel felt when she saw Frisk die? Sure, the timeline gets erased, but this is the struggle that people go through when they see a life…slipping away. A life they don't want to slip away.

You were currently swathed in a bundle of quilts after Toriel wiped you down, treating each and every wound with care. She knew the extent of what you did to protect Frisk, and she admired that. Throughout it all, Frisk sat by your side, staring intently into your face and hoping that you would just wake up!

In the brief time you've been their friend, you were always still, but not this still. Sure, you weren't one for running around unless you toted a paintball gun—or any gun really—but even then your eyes darted everywhere like a guard dog, fingers curiously tapping at available surfaces or skimming over the place you kept your weapons.

"Frisk? Child, what on earth are you doing?" Asgore walks in, settling himself besides them.

" _They're my friend_ ," Frisk replied morosely.

"Ah, I see. It is not peculiar to worry about a friend's wellbeing," Asgore amended, placing a hand on Frisk's shoulder. "But they are safe now, and they will recover. Do you not think they'll be happier to see you happy, than worried sick?"

" _I guess,"_ Frisk shrugged. _"It's different, you know? When I'm not the one in danger…when I can't do a thing about it. It's not like the Underground."_

"I would suppose so," Asgore lightly chuckled. "No matter how mature you may seem, how capable and how much you've accomplished, you are still only a child. Your friend, being much older than you, deemed it more acceptable to be the protector rather than the protected. You must respect that."

Frisk thought back to the first meeting they had with you. Your eyes were so cold and so uncaring…maybe you've seen more than they have. Maybe that's why you're on this bed now, taking the consequences of Frisk's unsuccessful assassination.

It certainly makes sense.

" _I understand. Thanks, dad,"_ Frisk smiled slightly. _"I think…I'll go to dinner now."_

"Good. And perhaps you can save a plate of Papyrus's spaghetti when your friend awakens," Asgore encouraged.

The two left you to your rest, unaware that you were not completely asleep.


	3. Chapter 3

**Epilogue**

You could never fully relax when asleep, but this was the closest you've ever gotten.

Bundled up snugly in a cocoon, you felt yourself ease to the waking world, feeling better than you had in a decade. Large, soft hands soothed your aches, brushing the side of your forehead.

"Are you awake, child?" a voice equally soft ventured.

"Hmm," you answered obligingly. It wasn't the first time someone was in this room sitting by your bedside. In fact, you've gotten used to the constant observation after the first two days, but now, you were finally ready to face the world.

Slowly, your eyes opened to the sight of a worried mother. She didn't have to be human for you to know what she was. You knew plenty of her kind. Always caring, always sacrificing, always protecting, always losing their children to you…

Except for Frisk.

As if sensing your discomfort, she stood up with a calming smile and said, "if you are feeling alright enough for it, perhaps you would like some food?"

"That would be great," you replied.

Watching as the woman left, you observed your surroundings. Bright red drapes covered the window to your left, a matching shade to the bed and quilt you're using. The door was to your right, larger than the average human frame. In front of you was a customary wardrobe and desk, and the floor was paved with a soft carpet.

While it wasn't exactly the quality hotels you were used to bouncing from one suite to another, it was most certainly more cushy and comfy than anything you've ever remembered residing in.

It wasn't before long the woman came back, a tray with some soup and a piece of pie cradled in her hands. As if in eager response, your stomach rumbled.

She laughed slightly, and set the tray in front of you.

"Dig in," she urged, and you obliged. Picking up a spoon, you inspected the soup. "I know this is insensitive of me, but I wish to know what you were doing in such a dangerous area. On normal grounds, I would not interrogate you such, but Frisk is my child. My only child. To know that—"

" _[Reader]!_ "

A mediocre weight of a middle schooler crushed your legs, bouncing lightly from the mattress underneath your immobile limbs. You winced as some of the soup spilled out of the bowl and spoon, and onto the tray.

"Hey there squirt. How are you?" you smiled, awkwardly waving to the child.

" _I'm good. The question is, how are YOU? You were so hurt when Papyrus brought you in! Are you feeling okay? Eating okay? How many fingers do I have?!_ "

You smiled in amusement at Frisk's hyperactive worry. "I'm fine now. And if you hadn't jumped onto the bed, I would've taken my first bite of soup. Also, you have ten fingers."

" _But I'm holding up three! Mom, quick! We have to heal [Reader] even more!_ "

"You asked how many fingers you had, not how many you had up," you responded smartly. "And I'm fine. There's no need for all this trouble."

"Oh, you are no trouble dear. None at all. In fact, it's well within our boundaries to thank you for what you've done for Frisk," Frisk's mother waves her hand off at your humbleness. "I may not know what exactly led to this predicament, but I do know you did your best to keep them safe. For that, I thank you."

You nodded awkwardly, not quite sure how to respond to her heartfelt words. "You're welcome."

"Well then. We'll leave you to eat in peace. Feel free to rest some more once you're done, or call for me if you want seconds."

The door clicked gently shut, and your shoulders relaxed.

What are you going to do now?

* * *

Monster candy was amazing.

You poked at the scabbed star on your shoulder, knowing a matching one was somewhere on the left of your spine. If it had actually hit your spine, you wouldn't be able to sit up, much less run from a mafia organization and stow away on a crate supplier ship.

Life would be so much more bearable if monster magic was a part of society, but you quickly backtracked. With the good, came the bad. With the luxury of magic came the black market for it.

Pushing the uncomfortable thought away (you didn't want to imagine Papyrus in a cage, nor Frisk's mother, Toriel, nor any of the monsters that had sat by your side in your sleep), you shrugged on your sleep shirt and made yourself presentable. They had yet to tell you to leave. In fact, they had pretty much forbidden it every time you brought up the subject. Today was the first day they even let you out of the confines of the mattress—not that you were complaining.

Your spine just hurt a little, and it wasn't from the bullet wound. You were just never used to sitting around for so long.

Leaving the room, the smell of vanilla and cinnamon invaded your senses. You followed the aroma to the kitchen, where Toriel was humming a small, peaceful tune. A lullaby.

You cleared your throat.

"Oh! You're awake! How wonderful. Would you like a cookie?" Toriel offered.

"No thank you. Do you need any help?" you asked in return.

"If you're feeling up to it, how about learning how to make some homemade bread?" came Toriel's chipper reply.

You acquiesced.

"Here, mix this first," she said, handing you a bowl before continuing to hum, giving small instructions to make sure you were doing it right.

After a moment of silence, the expected encounter came.

"Frisk told me what you are…but I wish to hear it from yourself. Who are you?"

You thought for a bit. Honesty was the best way to answer, but a little eloquence in words went a long way.

"I am…[Reader]. I am an assassin…a hired killer."

Sad thing was, there was no nice way to say it.

To your surprise—but then again, she did say Frisk already told her—she did not flinch or falter in her movements or expression. As you continued to mix the dough in your bowl, you grew nervous at the silence. She continued to bustle around the kitchen without a word, and you wondered if she had heard you at all.

"Perhaps…you had gone down that path from necessity," she started, jolting you from your anxiety. "I would not know. But I do know you are a good person…if given the chance."

You had long since stopped mixing. She turned to you with a gentle look on her face. You couldn't tell if it was a smile or a grimace as she took the bowl from your hands.

"Would you like to stay with us?"

Your brain froze.

Would you—?

You shook your head silently and turned away, retreating back to the room they have temporary dubbed as yours.

Would you like to stay with them?

You pushed the question out of your mind.

Of course you wouldn't! The dangers you could put them into, the loose ends that you've left in that dark, dark, criminal world, the sheer irresponsibility—!

That wasn't an honest answer though…

No. There was no use considering it. You simply couldn't.

You couldn't…

But would you?

* * *

Three in the morning, you gently slid the red drapes apart, unlatched the window, and held your breath as it creaked ominously.

Listening for footsteps or the door opening, you were prepared to launch yourself back into bed. Toriel was frightening when she wanted to play nurse.

When no presence was forthcoming, you braced yourself over the ledge of the window. The second story wasn't much of a jump, especially since you had the option of jumping into a nearby tree for cushioning, but you weren't in your tiptop shape.

Still, it was now or never—

As your body went through and your fingertips were about to leave the windowsill, your whole being was enveloped in a blue glow. Your center of gravity was quickly yanked back inside, slamming onto your bed.

"Oof!"

"so, tryin' to escape huh?"

A skeleton monster, shorter and stubbier than you were used to, looked down at you on the bed.

"Just wanted a breath of fresh air," you responded petulantly.

"no need to lie. i nose you don't breathe with your whole body out the window."

It took a moment to sink in that he had made a pun.

You only rolled your eyes and curled up in "your" bed.

"c'mon kiddo. gimme something to work with here," he hummed in a plead. You recognized him as one of your babysitters when you were still asleep the first few days, and also someone Papyrus introduced to you as his brother. Sans, you think his name was.

"What are you doing awake so early in the morning anyway?" you looked at him in askance. In passing, Papyrus had mentioned his brother always seemed to do nothing but sleep, but it seems that, that is not completely true.

"couldn't sleep," he responded, shrugging his shoulders. "and you? what were you doing?"

"couldn't sleep," you replied equally, raising your eyebrows.

The both of you laid on the bed—or at least, you laid on the bed and Sans sat with his back propped on one of the posts. It wasn't the most comfortable of silences, but it was up there somewhere.

"Your brother told me that you always tended to sleep in the mornings. Making up for the insomnia?" you asked casually.

"…i suppose," he shrugged again, answering nonchalantly. "speaking from experience?"

"You could say that," you answered carefully. "I…used to have nightmares. Things I've done…things I've continued to do."

He stayed silent.

"Was it so bad that I wanted to continue living, even at the cost of other people's lives? I didn't think so…but now, I'm not so sure what's worth it anymore."

"i'm not one to judge," he snickered, and you frowned. Was there an inside joke there somewhere? "but as far as i know, you're an okay person. you haven't hurt any of us at least."

"I've hurt countless others," you retorted. When he didn't reply, you continued. "I've hurt so many like Frisk…like Toriel. I've hurt people who don't deserve the shit the world gives them, and I've done it without hesitation."

"and regret?"

"What?" you jolted.

"what about regret?" he urged an answer.

Regret. Ha. You tried not to, but honestly, who hasn't felt any in this line of work?

"Plenty," you replied honestly.

You've spilt enough blood to fill a dam and swim in it with a herd of elephants, but even if you could change it, you wouldn't. Your regret was not THAT sort of regret. It was more along the lines of…"I didn't want to do it. I know it was wrong, I didn't mean it, but I had to."

For the rest of the night, the two of you sat in each other's presence.

Misery loved company, after all.

* * *

"You could be a baker!" Toriel chirped.

" _Or a teacher!_ " Frisk cheered.

"I don't think I have anything worth teaching to contribute to society, bucko," you ruffled their hair.

"I would suggest gardening. It's an enlightening hobby, as well as a job," Asgore inputted his two cents.

"OH, YOU COULD BE ONE OF THOSE SELLERS OF VIDEO GAMES! THOSE PEOPLE SEEM VERY COOL, AND YOU ARE COOL ENOUGH!"

"That would require an interview and a few applications with information I couldn't possibly give out," you replied with a small chuckle at all their enthusiasm. Only Sans could notice how your smile turned slightly sad. "I don't think any of society's normal jobs would be able to accept me."

"you can always join me on the couch. two seats available for some snoozin'."

That really got you laughing out loud. "Heh! You are all…very kind. And I find myself wanting to stay. However, I have loose ends to tie up."

So many problems to clean up before you try to enjoy a 'happily ever after…' but maybe you could earn it.

"If the offer still stands when I finish my business…may I come back and…?"

"Feel free to come back whenever, dear," Toriel was quick to respond, her giant paw patting your head softly.

Right.

You headed out the door.

Time to get started.

They wouldn't see you for another year.

* * *

 _ **Giant Mafia Circle Discovered!**_

 _Yesterday afternoon, the police had a big breakthrough in our city's most elusive crime syndicate. At approximately six-thirty in the morning three weeks ago, Chief Officer Roberts discovered a manila folder with anonymous tip-offs on the whereabouts of the Medici family, Ganourou family, and six other major criminal organizations. This data also included weeks of planned criminal activity, and now the police have over 70% of these lawbreakers behind bars._

 _Among the captured is Belial and her 300 plus men, rumored to have sent assassins after a pre-teen who has recently had a bit too much political power…_

* * *

 _ **Corruption at its Finest?!**_

 _With the final wrap-ups of the miscreants in the crime syndicates, official sources have discovered even more shocking news! Politicians have always been deep rooted in felony, and heavy evidence discovered points to many bribery for sabotage of the Monster-Human Friendly Revolution. As of today DD/MM/YYYY, the Supreme Court has rule that these frauds be arrested and confiscated of their monetary and—_

* * *

 _ **Kid Genius on the Rise?**_

 _When we first heard of "friendly" monsters, we were all skeptical. However, as they opened up to us, we, the people, are slowly able to see the truth that Child Ambassador Frisk has being trying to tell us all along…_

* * *

As the last applause echoed through the building, Frisk gave a tired sigh and stepped down from the podium.

The people started chatting among themselves, discussing the things Frisk had just spoken about or simply conversing about typical trends. It was very much a party-like atmosphere, something from the ballroom straight out of Cinderella. The chandeliers were pretty and the people supporting the campaign loved it, donating money here and there to help with medicinal or scientific efforts and what not.

It became such a big thing that Sans had to personally come with a legitimate suit and tie to show that he was the one using the money to find ways to combine a human and monster society, scientifically. People wanted to know what they were paying for, after all.

After the little fiasco with you and Belial, many a monsterkind wanted Frisk to hold their speeches indoors too, so it was like killing two birds with one stone. The campaigners are happy, and Frisk was safe. Frisk couldn't help but think that once a gun set off, panic was easy to settle in though. Perhaps it was your influence, the thinking that you told them to adopt.

Of course, that doesn't mean that they could defend themselves.

" _AH!_ "

The din of the crowd froze as an arm wrapped around Frisk's neck and a point of a metal blade poked their nape.

"NOBODY MOV—"

For a moment, everything was silent.

Then the man fell down, unconscious.

Frisk turned around to see you in your glory—your hair was neatly fixed and a tie was perfectly settled over your chest and blazer.

"Yo. Am I late for the party?" you waved in greeting.

* * *

 **A/N: Well, this is it! The finale for Try, Try Again. I've never finished a work before, and I'm actually very proud of it…**

 **There was so much I could've done and so many places I could've gone with this fic, like sending you, the reader, off on an epic journey to battle the whole crime world, eventually with Undyne and Alphys as your sidekicks (or maybe you were the sidekick of Undyne lol) but I felt that it would've just dragged on in a tedious manner. As it is right now, it's short, sweet, vaguely implying that you're a badass that uprooted the whole crime world anyway by yourself, and holy-guacamole-over-ten-thousand-words. That's enough, innit? (Can you tell I kinda rushed through it? Seriously though, there was nothing more I could add.)**


End file.
